Lodestone: Communication Breakdown. Thinking through this stuff depresses me (is method writing a thing? like method acting?), so I want to offer some more cheerful material courtesy of the inimitable kabeone. Inspired by a picture of a very happy turtle, we have a reminder that Wynston has tackled wonderful impossible things before and will very likely do so, and prevail, again:

He moved. In the confused hierarchies of Sith forces and regular military suddenly burdened with hundreds of haphazardly placed Intelligence émigrés, it was possible for a fast talker with a high clearance to get more information than he gave and then get out without having to actually take on assignments from anyone. Nobody was happy to see him – most assumed he was a taskmaster sent by new military or Sith authority to inspect the new operations and deal out punishment – but they really didn't have to be happy to see him. That wasn't the point.

Queries out. Rumors in. Small favors given. Small blackmail scraps gathered. The little transactions Corellia could so richly provide. Nothing was direct here, nothing certain. He could play those difficulties. What he wanted was information on closed spaces, stable in ownership for at least a couple of decades, that Baras or his proxies consistently defended or showed interest in. He let slip, by means not likely to be traced back to his face, that some powerful treasure of Baras's was on planet, ripe for the taking; a few middling-level Sith Lords were seeded with the word. Let them help in the search; either they would weaken Baras's forces in finding it or they would die in getting close to it, and some degree of location fix could be acquired either way.

He sought out the most crowded of cantinas in which to take his meals, but he ate alone. Socializing with strangers was too much right now. He knew his limits, if only by the sound they made on the too-frequent occasions he went sailing past them.

Time, space. Perspective. These would make matters easier. Wynston had gotten too invested in the job, or else picked up a job where he was too invested to wisely start, and either way, giving himself some distance while maintaining acceptable work throughput was the thing to do. He had told Ruth he would help; they hadn't exactly signed promises but at a minimum it seemed prudent to help her clear Baras out. That seemed like a solid basis for future work with Intelligence and the new organization.

He would transition Vector onto the job. She would understand. No ambiguity that way; she wasn't likely to accuse Vector of having dark personal motives. The man invited trust. Far more than a member of a potentially competing civilization's hive mind ought to. That was in no way a bitter observation; it was just one of the amazing things about Vector. Furthermore he was the one for long-term arrangements such as Intelligence wanted with the Wrath. Vector wasn't one to show up, strike, and vanish; he kept one name, one persona, and used it to build truly lasting relationships and alliances.

Wynston wasn't the one for trust, not in the long run.

So there was a plan in place. Short-term delivery. Transition to an appropriate contact. Long-term cooperation via the liaison she wouldn't blow up at. She would be fine. She would be fine.

This hadn't started as a job. Somehow it had turned into one. That had seemed right, it was what she expected, what got her to let him in. It was the thing he could do. It was what worked. Now he doubted there was anything he could say to change it back.

Well, he could guess at what to say. It was just that he was pretty sure she would say no.

The more he tried to push the thought of her away the more the scent of her haunted him, a whisper of leather and lilies, slamming his thoughts for fractions of a second any time he turned his head. The bright-eyed thoughtful and not at all derisive way she looked at him when he laid out what he was thinking. The way she moved with him, subtle and natural whenever they were in the same room, like a dance partner who'd been practicing with him every day since the first time he'd coaxed her onto the floor.

The look on her face when she snarled that he was trying to control her.

If he kept it a job he could fix it. He would get a usable lead for Ruth's crew, and then he would call Vector in and move on. Women had stayed on his mind before; it would fade. Once he got started the small unique beauties of other people would crowd it out, remove it to the considerable hall of things past their time and past their power to hurt.

Days. Queries out. Rumors in. Small favors given. Small blackmail scraps gathered. Rivals manipulated into doing his scouting for him. Time, space. Perspective. Walking wounded was half the fun. It kept things interesting. He still wasn't used to falling asleep alone.

Poor Ruth The ability to trust is so hard to regain once it's been shattered, especially for people who refuse not to see reality. And poor Wynston. Him dealing with this emotion thing is so sad and sweet. Just want to hug him. (The reminder that he's good with impossible stuff made me grin. Kabe's pics are always awesome )

Yay Wynston! You save the galaxy ?3? times you can work through feelings I know you can.

Feelings make total sense! You pick out or induce them as necessary or fun, enjoy them in small intense doses, then get the hell out of Dodge because oh hi there are very interesting things to do elsewhere. At any time, the mildest difficulty is cause to find an alternate solution to the problem at hand then skip right to getting out of Dodge.

Ruth's the one being unreasonable here, being all herself and stuff. And inducing mush in a very careless inconsiderate way. That's just not playing fair.

I never wrote up Wynston's first three galaxy-saving ventures. In fact, I had no idea they'd even happened until while I was writing RMC's final scene. Author favorite? Who? Huh?

@Striges Perfect Darmas. I like the idea of Darmas and Rixik circling each other sniffing each other out and Rixik allowing Darmas to think he's jealous and possessive. I also find it pretty interesting that Rixik realizes Darmas is out of his league.

Lodestone: Life and Death. Because this one Warrior NPC always reminds me of life and death. Sith Warrior Corellia spoiler setting. 550 words.

Spoiler

Another special shuttle. They seemed to have more shuttles off the books than on these days, and there were enough on the books to carry out on full-scale war. The rest constituted the most turbulent, noisy, comedically high-profile shadow war Wynston had ever observed, and he'd been on Nar Shaddaa during Hutt flare-ups.

See? Right there. Perspective. Also she was doing fine. Someone would've called if she weren't.

The shuttle's chosen landing spot confirmed the area of interest that had come up amidst the grasping Sith Lords' investigations. Wynston still wasn't entirely sure what was arriving. So, as it came in for a landing, he went to find out.

He made his way up the huge block of a Corellian skyscraper to the rooftop where the shuttle was set to land. There were guards on every level; Wynston kept his stealth generator up and his movements quiet.

The shuttle that touched down was blatantly emblazoned with Sith emblems: no specific office, but the thing was made to look Distinguished. The ramp hissed and lowered, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man. Bald. Robed. Cyborg, more by way of repair than of choice judging by the scarring. Very slightly stiff carriage, but he carried a lightsaber; combat capability should not be discounted.

Wynston had minimal chance to evaluate that. As the guards came forward to challenge the newcomer, said newcomer waved one hand and swept them like so many leaves off the edge of the roof, multiple meters away.

Hm. One of those types.

Wynston trailed at a distance as the Sith stalked downstairs, wordlessly flattening anyone who got in his way, ignoring the rest. Once on the street he made straight for one particular building within Wynston's marked area of interest: a broad one, low by Corellian standards, and currently guarded by some of the regular troops earmarked by Baras.

Noted.

Wynston headed to an out-of-the-way corner, released stealth, and called Vette. The Twi'lek answered oddly quickly.

But when she spoke, of course, her voice was bored. "You. Up to anything fun lately? If so, please share, the Wrath's been kind of a drag."

"I witnessed an interesting landing. Individual agent, cyborg. Big. Sith. Powerful in the Force. I have every reason to believe he's Baras's and he's heading for a location that I have reason to believe houses your Sith Entity."

Vette's look turned appraising. "Out of curiosity. Do you actually have hobbies?"

"I was going to scout in the area, keep things clear for you, and stay out of the way." he said. "Wynston out."

He didn't want to show his face around Ruth; nor did she want to see it. He could still help. Store up at least a little goodwill to hand off to Vector or someone she could stand to talk to. He couldn't get on site to rig the battlefield, not with the cyborg there, but he could keep the perimeter clear. And if things got bad, he could step in to bring some attacks to bear on the big guy. The Sith had been pretty heavily modified, enough that anti-droid equipment might be appropriate. Necessary, even; Wynston needed every advantage he could get against Force users.

He turned his steps toward the spaceport. Time to grab the appropriate gear and get to work. Everything was clearer now that the objective was in sight.

Ruth scowled and gestured. "Is 'Anonymous' about yea tall, dark blue hair, in the employ of a highly questionable organization?"

"Might be a trap," said Pierce, "but not likely. Any tip's better than none at the rate we've been going, milord."

"It's Wynston. It's not a trap," said Jaesa.

Ruth hadn't exactly left him good reason to want to work with her. Then again, the job was the one thing he never gave up on.

What job, though?

No. She already knew she was going to investigate this possible Entity location. She called Darth Vowrawn, arranged the rendezvous, and hit the road.

With Vowrawn and her crew she entered a broad, relatively squat building in Corellia's government district. She descended with them into a sub-basement, where they found an enormous hall, lavishly draped yet bare of furniture.

In a column of red light hovered a woman's figure, an image that absorbed the light and released nothing but a velvety heat of Dark Side energy.

"Is she not beautiful?" Vowrawn said happily.

"I've never sensed anything like it," Ruth admitted.

The answering voice seemed to rasp from multiple directions at once. "Come closer. You are here to aid. Baras knows. I cannot resist." Her captor sensed that so soon? "I am bound. Every extraction pains. If you fail, he will punish me. For welcoming you."

Ruth wouldn't let that happen. Not to another.

"Don't fear, Entity," said Vowrawn. "The trial is over. I know the incantation. Now it is a simple matter."

"No. You do not understand. We are not alone."

Ruth and Vowrawn turned in unison toward the newcomer they sensed. A big man, seemingly more cybernetics than flesh, but something of his ruined face was familiar.

He extended a hand and Vowrawn simply crumpled under a cloud of red painful even to Force sense.

"At last," said the cyborg, and the voice was that of Baras's old apprentice Lord Draahg. "I've caught up to you again. I told you, I cannot be killed."

She didn't know how he was back. She had killed him on Hoth, after he had announced Baras's displeasure with her. She couldn't let fear cloud her senses now. Sheer returning arrogance seemed to be the way to go. "Are you not tired of failing yet?"

"Pain sustains me," he said thickly. "I ate of suffering as you watched me burn. I drank of anguish as Baras rebuilt me. My eyes are no longer flesh. I see in a new way now. And the sight of you sickens and delights me."

"Hm. I can return half of that."

"In minutes the great Darth Vowrawn and his hard-won knowledge will disintegrate. Then the Entity will forever be in Baras's control."

"Truth," grated the Entity. "The death field is powered by the machinery of Draahg's."

"But I'm forgetting myself," added Draahg. His face twisted and puckered around the dark cybernetics when she smiled. "Your father sends his regards. I must say, he didn't put up a very impressive fight."

Her heart seized up. By arrogance alone the statement might just have been a taunting lie, but she felt truth in it, the truth that had robbed her of her father the day before she had come to this forsaken planet.

Combat preparation was not a breath, not a focus. It was red.

Draahg laughed when she raced in to meet him. She deflected his first push of raw Force energy without thinking and was dimly aware of something collapsing some ways to one side as a result. She swung into battle at Force-enhanced speed, observing a couple of very slight stiff elements in the big cyborg's motions.

She found out quickly enough that his raw power more than made up for that weakness.

Everything blurred. He struck at her. He struck at her friends. He struck because she hadn't stopped him the first time. And although she fought back, he was bigger than she, and he hated as much.

Somewhere after she knocked him away from Pierce and closed to lock him down, he suddenly reached in and grappled with her, seizing her mask. She tried to back away; he gripped and pulled, tearing the mask away, and when he saw the look on her face he laughed aloud.

A blaster yelped from the doorway. She maneuvered quickly to find – Wynston interfering again. He was actually walking toward the melee combatants. If he was planning something stupid she could neither help nor hinder him, not right now. She had her hands full with Draahg.

She made sure his hands were full with her. She threw everything she had into twin saber strikes, bludgeoning Force blows. He was still laughing, but at least, at least she had him in one place.

Suddenly he yelled and arched backward, nearly toppling. Sparks arced from some device planted on the exposed circuitry of his back. It was enough to get her an opening. Not even the savagery of the Force pushback that flattened her friends could stop her when she went in for the kill. She swept, struck, knocked him to his knees, kicked him to the ground, struck again. She felt it with her whole being when Lord Draahg died.

Ruth stood over him and let her hatred boil. None of this could make up for losing her father. But at least she had torn away another of Baras's tools.

Just in case, and she kept a shield of fury up because she knew she would break and get sick if she left its protection, she started dismembering the fallen foe. Good luck coming back from being cut limb from limb. She cut, nudged aside, cut, nudged aside, keeping herself not numb but angry. As a last stroke she severed Draahg's metal-shelled head. Then she kicked it away and looked up. People were waiting.

As, for example, Wynston, who met her eyes when she turned to him.

He was some ways away, holding a blaster pistol at his side. When she faced him he took a few steps towards her, stopped. If there was an expression on his face it was sorrow. Stars. He was going to yell at her again. She did what she had to, the only thing that made sense, and he was going to hate her for it all over again. That shouldn't hurt, but it did. A lot.

Before she could turn away he held forth one hand, just as if inviting her to take it.

She stared. The battle was over. With the last of the slashing done she already felt some of her rage draining away. He was here, and he wasn't shying away or getting angry from having seen her. Instead he was waiting.

Maybe things would be all right.

"Oh, Wrath," called Vowrawn, "don't cool down just yet. That connection will be necessary; I'll require your assistance to complete the ritual."

Of course. The Dark Side and its continued demands were waiting. Neither Wynston nor the crew would understand it, but it was necessary. She surged with something that felt like shame. She turned away from Wynston and stalked over to contribute whatever it was Vowrawn needed to release the Entity and push the mission onward.

Wynston clamped down on his gut reaction before it could overwhelm him. The reaction to losing her. Enough. She was alive and she had the day's objective; he would contact the crew for further instructions later. For now he was useless. This was a Sith matter, and he was useless.

He turned away from that skin-crawling dark tableau and headed toward the exit. His holo beeped before he had exited the great hall.

Vette, who he knew was standing not more than twenty meters behind him, wrapped one arm across herself while holding her holo with the other hand. "I will kick your *** if you take another step," she said.

"My task here is done," he said flatly.

"I'm a good enough shot to take out both your legs at this range," she informed him.

"Are you really going to force the stress of my presence on her at a time like this?"

"You're really bad at basic instructions. Do I have to start a countdown here?"

"If she says go, I go. That's not negotiable."

The Twi'lek just made a face and hung up. So he turned around and started grimly toward her and the rest of the crew.

*

Vette pocketed her holo and watched the Chiss approach. "If she says go I'll kick her ***, too," she announced.

*

When Wynston got close he noted something off in Pierce's stance. "You intact?" he inquired.

"Mostly," said Pierce. "One leg's hit, was going to patch it up when we got back to the ship."

"Let me take a look."

It was a bad saber wound, the product of one of Draahg's spinning strikes. "One moment." He started unpacking his medkit, his movements swift and sure and familiar and therefore soothing. Well, as soothing as looking at lightsaber-slashed flesh could be.

Vowrawn, Ruth, and the strange dark figure had some interaction Wynston couldn't make much sense of. At length the figure…dissipated; Vowrawn took his leave; and Ruth came to face the crew. She avoided eye contact with them.

"Let's go," she said, and walked past.

Wynston stayed a step behind her. She was still radiating something disturbing. "Are you all right, my lord?" he said carefully.

"Yes, thank you," she said distantly.

"With your permission I'll see the lieutenant back to your medbay, make sure he's taken care of."

"That would be most helpful." She scowled at the doorway ahead. "Any further commentary?"

"No. No, that's not what I'm here for."

"Good." She sped up.

Wynston hung back with the crew. Vette kept giving him looks that seemed to indicate any flight attempt would be met with deadly or at least seriously inconvenient force. Jaesa made a couple of quiet attempts to engage Ruth in conversation, but Ruth was having none of it. Pierce stayed silent and alert. Broonmark stayed, at least, silent.

On the ship Wynston took advantage of Ruth's medbay supplies…once he figured out how the hell they were organized…to finish patching Pierce up. The big man grunted thanks and headed back to his quarters.

Ruth was loitering in the holo room when Wynston came in. She tilted her head after Pierce and said, with admirable cool, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Unfortunately Pierce may be slow in action for a day or two." His mind was either racing too fast to follow or stopped in place, he wasn't sure which. "It's a bad time to be down a fighter. This mission, Baras, it's still to everyone's advantage to see it resolved in your favor."

"Are you offering to help?"

"I'd like to. If there's room on the ship. Quarters. It's a question of professionalism."

"Naturally. I think that's for the best."

"So do I."

This was fake. Their earlier talks hadn't been fake, but this definitely was. How was the wrongness of it not driving her crazy right now?

She had her own problems, he reminded himself.

She left the room; he stayed behind, settling at the console he already had credentials set up on. He could get some work in before bed. Work made sense. It was something he could do.

Jaesa showed up not long afterwards to sit opposite him.

"Good evening," he said. He had a bad feeling about this.

She gave him one of her lovely doe-eyed looks. And said "You're a coward, Wynston."

He smiled blandly. "I've been called worse." It didn't change what was necessary. Nor did it change the limits in place.

"Thank you for helping with Lord Draahg. That was very nice. It's also practically a footnote in the list of what's wrong right now."

"I'm not sure I agree. It was challenging for a footnote," he said, looking significantly over toward the medbay. He didn't know whether Jaesa could read Chiss eye directions – it didn't come naturally to most humans – but he guessed she would figure it out.

"I'm not qualified to do the important part. Ruth does need a friend. She trusts you. She hasn't attacked you. You've been here the whole time and I know your intentions are true. More to the point, she knows it. If anyone should be with her right now, it's you."

"I've tried."

"So have I," he said, allowing sharpness into his voice.

"She's changed the last few days, you know. It's hard, but until this evening she hasn't…lapsed. If there were a Force signature for stubbornness she'd have it, and it wasn't there before you showed up. You did something."

"I'm glad for that, but I don't think I can do more in any personal capacity. Do you really think she needs more things to be conflicted over right now?"

"She's conflicted over literally everything. Only a few of those things spend any time making her happy."

"Jaesa. In my professional evaluation the probability of improving anything by trying to get closer to her again is low enough that any action beyond field support would be inadvisable."

"And your personal evaluation, Wynston? Or are you going to tell me you don't have one?"

He was tempted to tell the young woman just that, but she was glaring at him in a way that suggested she would inflict some Jedi mind trick if he didn't cooperate. "In my personal evaluation any action beyond field support is the worst idea imaginable." No matter what good it might do, or how much some kind of reassurance might help, or how much he wanted to see her turn back to him, or how much he wanted her to want to, or…he turned his attention back to the console and waited for Jaesa to go away.

Spoiler

Status, for those keeping score: Ruth: Miserable, wishing she could settle into a comfortable illusion of niceness. Wynston: Keeping an eye on the mission, having no idea how to make this anything else, but wishing he could have the chance to make it something else.

Vette, who he knew was standing not more than twenty meters behind him, wrapped one arm across herself while holding her holo with the other hand. "I will kick your *** if you take another step," she said.

"My task here is done," he said flatly.

"I'm a good enough shot to take out both your legs at this range," she informed him.

"Are you really going to force the stress of my presence on her at a time like this?"

"You're really bad at basic instructions. Do I have to start a countdown here?"

"If she says go, I go. That's not negotiable."

The Twi'lek just made a face and hung up. So he turned around and started grimly toward her and the rest of the crew.

*

Vette pocketed her holo and watched the Chiss approach. "If she says go I'll kick her ***, too," she announced.

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The statements and opinions expressed on these websites are solely those of their respective authors and do not necessarily reflect the views, nor are they endorsed by Bioware, LucasArts, and its licensors do not guarantee the accuracy of, and are in no way responsible for any content on these websites.